The London Affair
by Diddlepie
Summary: The threat of a Cold War assassination plot against the British Prime Minister puts UNCLE in play. But the master minds behind the plot are unknown. What this means for our intrepid trio is more than they bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone. A few notes: mistakes are all mine. Hopefully I've caught them all, but if a few have crept through, please forgive. I've attempted to keep the characters true to the movie as I saw them._

 _This story is fully written just doing clean up on the next chapters and then I'll post. I hope you like it, its taken more time than I thought it would, but heh I'm hanging out with my favorite spies._

 _And for any legal types out there, this story is written solely for the enjoyment of fans. The characters are simply on loan for me to play with. There is no intention of making any money from this story._

 ** _THE LONDON AFFAIR_**

 _By diddlepie 9/2015_

 **CHAPTER ONE**

He entered the darkened room cautiously, the only light coming from a small gooseneck lamp on a broken small table. Illya had gone missing two days ago. If anything the Russian was punctual and when he didn't show up at the appointed meeting time, Solo began to expect the worse. He hadn't voiced his concerns to Gaby ...yet which was easy as she wasn't scheduled to join them for another day. He knew she was fond of the big Russian, well maybe a bit more than fond; definitely more than fond and he knew it was a mutual feeling with the Red Peril, a nickname he'd given him on their first mission together. Subtlety was not one of Illya's strong points. If he liked you, he regarded you dispassionately. But if he disliked you, there was a good chance he'd rearrange your anatomy or worse. For Gaby there was a third look, pride maybe with a softening of his features. Not quite a smile, but so far the closest to one Solo had ever seen.

He hadn't come across any sentries when he entered the building. It was an abandoned location in a rundown forgotten part of the city. London was full of them as the city was still rebuilding after the bombing but for now it was the kind of place where the residents take no notice and expect others to do the same of them. The perfect kind of place for criminal setups and tear downs used for one purpose and one purpose only before the operation moved again leaving no trace.

In the center of the room was a single chair, a large chair fastened securely to the floor like you'd find in a dentist office. The back of the chair faced him and he could see a tall figure seated. He scanned the room, gun drawn, looking for any potential threats but his attention was on the chair.

"Peril?" he said quietly. No answer. He continued across the room ready for confrontation but becoming increasingly convinced they were alone. Whoever they were they'd brought the Russian here for a single reason and now moved on to a new location only to move again continuing a never ending pursuit.

He swiveled around, crouched with gun cocked, at the sound of footsteps behind him. "Napoleon?" a soft voice said.  
"Get down!" he demanded. "I'm not sure it's safe. Did you see anyone on the way in? And what are you doing here anyway? he asked his voice strongly tinged with shock and concern.

"I got here early and when I couldn't fine either of you two in the hotel, I saw you outside and followed you", she replied quietly as she scanned the room. A sharp intake of breath followed as her eyes focused on the back of the chair. "Illya?"

He stood as it was clear they were alone. "You aren't supposed to be here", he said annoyed, while hiding his own worry as he holstered his gun. "And you shouldn't have followed me. You have a lot to learn about being a spy," he said walking to the front of the chair. Illya sat slumped to the side his head resting on the side of the extended head rest. He hadn't moved or made a sound and he knew you didn't have to have a degree in medicine to know it wasn't a good sign.

Gaby was there in a flash, her questions coming faster than a Browning M 1919 automatic rifle. "Is he alright? What have they done to him? How long has he been missing?" Interrupting her line of rapid fire questions he said urgently,  
"See if you can find a pulse," as he reached for the light to get a closer look at the small white metal table that was next to him.

Gaby at first reached for the man's wrist but realized in the dim light it was firmly strapped to the arm of the chair as was his other arm and both ankles. "Napoleon," she stumbled the word out haltingly. He looked over to see that the man's shirt had been rolled up at the cuff and then cut open above the elbow to expose the veins of his arm.

"Does he have a pulse?" he repeated his voice remaining calm but insistent.

Gaby pulled herself together trying to stamp down the panic that was threatening to run her over. She reached up to his neck and felt for the jugular. The seconds stretched on as Solo waited for her to speak while he busied himself with the contents of the table. Her face was squeezed in concentration as she moved her fingers pressing at different spots seeking confirmation for what she hoped was the truth.

"It's very weak and slow but there's a pulse." "See if you can wake him up." He could hear the woman's increasing efforts to wake the man calling his name and patting him on the cheek as he continued to investigate the contents of the white table. No surprise there was a variety of syringes and vials, most open and empty. He sniffed them and the lack of tell tale odor or taste told him his guess was probably right. "Sodium Pentothal. Truth serum", he said collecting the vials and putting them in his pocket. "I'm guessing they decided to give our friend a giant dose to go with his size, and it looks like they kept trying till they just about killed him." He looked at the Russian again who didn't look good at all. His skin had a dull sheen, with a grey tinge. And dispute Gaby's efforts, he hadn't moved or made a sound since they arrived.

"What did they want?" She checked his pulse again, her hands now beginning to cradle his face. "I don't know," was his reply. "Spy stuff I guess, although knowing Peril he probably wouldn't tell them what he had for lunch today. Russian state secret or something."

He suddenly had a cold tingle go up his spine as a new panic began to settle in his brain. "We gotta get him out of here. Get these restraints off." If they couldn't get any information out of him, which he would put money on that they didn't, the Russian still made good bait for a trap that they might have just walked into. They hurriedly unbuckled the thick leather straps that held him to the chair. He could see by the raw marks on his wrist that the he'd put up a good fight.

"Come on, help me move him," Napoleon said. He knew he was going to regret this... well not regret rescuing the man, but carrying him was definitely going to give him a sore back for a long, long time. Gaby grabbed one arm and he the other as they pulled him forward out of the chair while Napoleon crouched down to receive the man on his shoulders in a fireman carry. He'd certainly done it during the war but he always tried to pick the small wounded guys not the ones who were the size of Peril.

He groaned as the dead weight of the man settled on his shoulders. The absence of any sound from the unconscious man was unsettling as it brought back clear memories of carrying the dead and dying from the battlefield. He took some comfort in the fact that at least Peril was still warm. Grimacing he rose from his crouch. He looked at Gaby who stood in front of him. He said calmly, "Reach into my jacket and pull out my gun and be prepared to use it if I tell you." She nodded silently and proceeded cautiously toward the door. He was aware she'd had little experience with guns and his was a bigger one than a woman her size would normally carry, but he knew her well enough that in a pinch, she could handle herself.

They traveled without incident to the same entry he'd come in. As long as his cargo didn't slip off his shoulders, he was ok although he had to remember to turn sideways at doorways to keep from getting caught on the Russian's long legs. At the final broken down back door, he spotted a most uncharacteristic object; a phone sitting on the remnants of a desk." Gaby, see if that phone works by any fortunate chance."  
She looked at it, as surprised as him. She picked it up and a pleasant voice answered, "Number please." What kind of outfit would be so stupid to leave a functioning phone, he thought. "I'll call Waverly's hotel," she said without waiting for confirmation from Solo.

Waverly answered directly and listened carefully. "Right," he said with his usual crispness. "Stay right there and I'll be there straight away." "Is he on his way?" Napoleon asked, "because I don't think this position is the best for Peril's health, his lungs crushing in on my shoulders. Now that I say that I don't think it's the best for my health either. How's he doing?" She reached over for his lose arm as it swung from Napoleon's back. In the dim light she could see the abrasions on his wrist as she gently squeezed it for a pulse. His face was at her level and she had to turn away to keep her emotions in check. She spoke to no one as she said, "he's not good." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked away.

"Waverly will be here soon," he said quietly hoping he was right. Soon after a white van pulled up, the lights off as it came around the corner. Solo shifted anxiously, "You still have that gun ready?" She replied with a firm nod of her head and they both backed into the shadows. Several well armed darkly clothed figures immediately jumped out of the van and began fanning out, it wasn't until another figure popped out that Solo breathed a sigh of relief. "Is that you Solo and do you have Gaby with you?"

The van transformed into a whirlwind of activity. What seemed like a squad of doctors and nurses appeared with orderlies and the Russian was quickly loaded onto a stretcher and taken back to the van with the doctors and nurses all busy doing something. "Here take these", Solo said as he handed the empty vials and syringes to one of the doctors. "Looks like they stuck him with a lot of that stuff. Sodium pentothal I think." The doctor took it without a word and hurried quickly after the others. Gaby started after them when she was stopped by Waverly waving her down.  
"No need to worry, my Dear. I assure they are the best and if Mr Kuryakin can be saved, I'm sure they'll do it." He said it with such a casual confidence that it was hard to think he was actually talking about a man's life.

Solo watched as the assault team of doctors, or so they seemed, loaded the Red Peril onto a gurney and attached all sorts of gizmos onto him before slipping him into the van which they all loaded back into and sped away.

"Yes, yes, I assure you they'll take very good care of our Red friend as we'd have to pay the Soviets a dreadfully large amount of money should anything happen to him on our watch." He was stretching out his back when he heard the last words. "What did you say?" "Oh, just that we'd owe the Soviets a large sum of money if Mr Kuryakin was killed while in the employ of UNCLE."

Solo shock his head as he continued stretching and twisting a very painful back. "So what you're saying is if anything happened to me or Gaby UNCLE would have to pay our governments money like a life insurance policy or something?" Waverly cleared his throat as he motioned for a large car that had just arrived. "Well, no it's not life insurance as you'd call it as I'm quite certain if Mr Kuryakin has any living relatives they would not receive it. Oh, maybe they'd get a medal or something, maybe a good bottle of vodka, but that would be about it. The Soviets can be dreadfully difficult you know...they simply demanded the cost of training, housing, and a variety of other ancillary and to my mind rather foolish charges, they would be due for their investment in Mr Kuryakin." Solo exchanged glances with Gaby and knew this was a conversation to be continued at a later time. He wondered if the US would be so interested in him if he got cooked in UNCLE's employ. He was feeling a little undervalued at that moment.

Once in the car though, Waverly's tone changed to more serious. "Did you find any evidence of what they were looking for?" he asked leaning over from the front seat to face his two agents seated in the rear. They went on to say not only couldn't they find any evidence of why Illya was kidnapped or what was asked, or even "who" they were. They had just arrived in London and had not even been briefed as to what the mission was.

"So Waverly, how did you ever get a medical squad here so fast? And where have they taken Kuryakin?" This whole UNCLE thing was still a mystery to him, just what it was, who it was, and just how far did Waverly's network reach. "Oh yes, I'm sure your curious. Quite an affair aren't they," he quipped. "They are the Prime Minister's private medical team. When I heard how desperate Mr Kuryakin's situation sounded, I thought I'd give the old chap a ring and see if I might borrow them." The puzzled faces on the two agents promoted him to continue. "Harold Wilson. You've heard of the man I'm sure. Jolly good chap. Great story teller. He said by all means borrow them. We don't want our Red friends thinking we can't take care of our visitors." With that and a smile he turned around and spoke to the driver who was Chinese in what Solo thought must be Mandarin.  
He looked over at Gaby. She had a firm set to her jaw with her head held higher than is comfortable. She's just holding it together, he thought to himself, but she's doing it. The spy game was a tough one especially if you cared for someone who was in it.

His thoughts were broken by Waverly speaking again in English this time."Once we know more of our friend's condition, I'll fill you in on the mission. We're on our way to the Prime Minister's private hospital."

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 _What do you think so far? Comments appreciated and it seriously does help to keep the momentum going. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

The hospital didn't look very impressive except for the police guard out front. Waverly explained it was designed to look ordinary having been built during the War for Churchill as a field hospital, and although it wasn't really needed anymore, there was a strong feeling it should be kept open 'just in case'.

When the guard opened the rather ordinary door, Solo could see it was nothing like the building's exterior. What they saw was a shinny stainless steel inner door with multiple locks and reinforcements. They went down a set of sturdy metal stairs into what had been a bomb shelter with the classic rounded ceilings and multiple tunnels heading in many directions.

Straight ahead was a brightly illuminated room populated with the medical squad they'd just seen in action. In the middle of the room was the long unmistakable form of the Russian lying on a clean white bed with multiple gizmos running to and from it. Gaby started forward, but Solo put a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "Let them work. Peril will be fine." Indeed he looked better already. He had an oxygen mask on his face and he'd been changed into clean white pin stripe hospital scrubs.

Waverly took over. "How's our patient." He said to the doctor who appeared to be in charge. He looked at Waverly with exacerbation on his face, glancing occasionally at Gaby and Solo as he spoke in a hushed tone. Waverly nodded and appeared dismayed shaking his head a few times in frustration. They couldn't hear what was said, but Solo carefully scrutinized their expressions.

Finally Waverly broke away and walked over. He looked concerned but not alarmed.

"The doctor here feels you caught Mr Kuryakin just in time. Another few minutes and he might have gone into cardiac arrest. Overdose sodium pentothal. I wonder if it really works as a truth serum." He shook his head in contemplation before continuing. "Well, it appears whoever was trying to illicit information from Mr Kuryakin must not have been making progress, tight lipped as our Russian friend is, and just kept increasing the dose. Good work you two coming along when you did. Excuse me if you will." He walked away briskly with the doctor.

Gaby had listened to every word but had never taken her eyes off the still form on the bed. "Can we see him?" she said half question, half demand.

"Oh yes, certainly," replied one of the remaining doctors who was hovering over him. "We were able to stabilize his breathing and heart rate and are trying to wake him now." He spoke quietly to Solo, "and we'd really like to know what he remembers of his kidnappers." He nodded with a raised eye brow.

She walked to his side and couldn't help but briefly smile as she noticed his feet hanging off the end of the bed. She knew it drove him crazy that beds were not made long enough for his generous length.

A nurse approached with a syringe. "What are you giving him?" she said. "It's adrenaline. Should help him wake up."

Napoleon heard the word adrenaline and immediately stepped forward. "That may not be the best as our friend here seems to have quite a lot of that naturally." His words were too late as the needle found its mark and the potion delivered. Oh boy, he said to himself. He spoke to the doctor standing on the other side of the bed. "You might want to get ready for this."

The Red Peril opened his eyes and squinted as the bright lights assaulted them. He turned to see the doctor standing on one side of him and a growl rumbled in his throat. He ripped off the oxygen mask and it was very clear he was going to kill anyone he could get his hands on.

"All hands!" the doctor yelled as the Russian grabbed his shirt with a vice grip.

"Peril it's us! The good guys!" Solo yelled. Gaby grabbed his other hand and held it tight. He didn't have his usual strength which was good as he may have crushed it. "Illya stop," she said firmly. He spun his head toward her still holding the doctor. He looked at her for a long moment and then Solo. They were his partners now, his family, and he slowly let his head fall back to the pillow, while his other hand was still locked onto a very worried looking doctor. It seemed like he'd forgotten he was holding him.

"Peril? Let the man go." Illya looked to his other hand and saw the doctor looking like a landed fish.

"Oh yes, sorry."

The nurse picked up the oxygen mask and cautiously attempted to put it on his face again. He waved her away with an angry stare. "Don't need that."

"How do you feel, Mr Kuryakin?" Waverly interjected returning quickly.

"I need to kill some people," was his strained answer As the concerned looks and raised eye brows spread around the room, Waverly quipped,

"Yes I'm quite sure you'd like to get your hands on your kidnappers." A nurse brought him a glass of water and helped him to sit up for a few sips. Becoming serious Waverly asked, "So what do you remember?"

The Russian closed his eyes and took a few breathes before beginning. "I was followed by four men, two dressed as laborer both in dirty overalls, one dressed as business man in pinstripe suit with small grey fedora in car, one dressed as police. I ran down deserted street and hide in abandoned doorway to wait for them." He stopped to catch his breath. The nurse offered him more water, and he attempted to grab the glass.

"Just sip please," she said nervously. "I'll hold it for you." Gaby nodded her agreement to him, and was grateful when he complied.

He continued, "The two in overalls ran past me. The business man in suit came by slowly in car and blinded me with spot light, that's when the overall men came back, and man dressed as policeman came through the door behind me with two others, I am not sure. It was an ambush that I know. There were many. I fought them all, but they had a chloroform mask. I remember the smell. That's all I remember." His lips tightened."If I were a better agent I would have killed them."

Solo quickly added, "Well I don't think there's any shame in getting taken down by a mob." He rolled his eyes is disbelief. "Really Peril, don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself?"

The doctor who had stepped well back out of reach said, "You may find pieces of memories coming back to you over the next few days even weeks. You must relay them to Alexander as you remember them." The Russian just nodded.

He began to take in the rest of his surroundings. "Where am I?" Solo explained the events of the night and Gaby's unexpected early arrival. At the mention of her name Solo waited for the subtle but reliable slight softening of his steeled glance. He got it.

Illya listened to the story but it didn't stir up any memories of his last days. He lay silently for a minute and then suddenly kicked the sheet off that covered his legs. "I am not child. Don't need to be in bed." Moving far quicker than a man his size should be able to, he swung his legs to the floor and stood in front of Solo face to face... and then promptly crumpled. If the other man had not been there he would have hit the floor. Instead he caught him under the arms as he fell against him.

"That's it Peril", Solo grunted as he hauled him to his feet, "I am done picking you up today." The other man's face was a vision of shock and disbelief, as they meet eye to eye.

"Maybe I rest for a few more minutes," he said sheepishly as multiple hands got him back into bed. Gaby raised the head of the bed into a sitting position, making it easier for the man to see. Thankfully he settled back and relaxed. They stood quietly for a minute no one saying anything, processing the revelations of the last few minutes.

Finally Illya spoke, "Thank you for coming after me. You saved my life...again." His tone was genuine and a later embarrassed. "Think nothing of it, Peril. You've done it for me." The Russian nodded in agreement to the other man.

"We take care of each other," Gaby said.

"Yes," replied the Russian taking her hand and softly kissing the back of it. Gaby responded with a self conscious blush. Why these two are so stoic with each other is beyond me, thought Solo. Maybe it's that Eastern European self denial. I'm sure glad I don't suffer from it. He patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm out of here Peril. Got a few extra hours and I'm going to find something fun to do for a change." He gave a wink to Gaby and headed for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Six hours later, the three agents met with Waverly in his hotel. Kuryakin had refused to stay any longer in the hospital and when he walked out, no one dared to stop him.

They were in the heart of London off Piccadilly Square which had suffered terrible bomb damage in the war and was still in the building process. Waverly didn't seem to have an office or headquarters, just constantly changing hotels, a security step Solo figured. This was their third mission together, and the first to a country where English was the native language. Also the first place where he wasn't considered an outsider. As a matter of fact, the British loved Americans and so he never had to buy a drink. He was enjoying his hero status and the side benefits of adoring women, easy access to anyplace he wanted to visit which had included a few acquisitions. Just minor ones but enough to keep some spare change in his pocket and a good suit on his back.

Gaby and Peril would not do so well, he thought. Germans were not welcome and eyed very suspiciously. Gaby seldom spoke when out in public for fear of giving her nationality away. Solo planned on traveling with her so he could take the burden of communication off her shoulders. And although Kuryakin had not had much of a chance to get around, there was little doubt he would catch hostile stares wherever he went. He didn't exactly blend in with his height and his steely glare made him even more memorable. The Soviet Iron Curtain across Europe had heightened everyone fears of Communist aggression and the balance of power between East and West was fragile. Russians were not welcome.

"Come in, come in," Waverly greeted them enthusiastically. "I trust you're all well and let me welcome you to London. Tea anyone?" Solo smiled while Gaby looked slightly on edge and Illya frowned. Talking a cup of tea, she said, "So it's taken awhile to get here with a few distractions, but what's our mission?" "Yes, indeed a few distractions," he said as he eyed the Russian who remained standing while both Gaby and Solo took seats.

He paced the room a moment looking at his assembled team of three. Not much of a team in numbers, but what it lacked in bodies it made up for in talent and determination.

Napoleon Solo a handsome man who could charm the teeth off a lion, steal them and sell them to the hyenas who would be charmed. He could lie, cheat, steal and usually got away with it, well almost until the CIA decided to become the lion and they weren't so charmed.

Illya Kuryakin a one man army. His work was all about brute force, and ferocity. Where Solo would steal the teeth off the lion, Kuryakin would kill the lion with his bare hands and take the teeth and chase down the hyenas until they begged for mercy.

And then Gaby. The one member of his team who was not a trained spy, criminal, or operative. She happened to be in the right (or wrong place) at the right (or wrong time), he still wasn't sure. She'd proven herself capable on their first mission together and she'd made it very clear she was staying. Interesting he thought she was the only member of the team who had a choice to stay, or begin a new life. Britain would grant her asylum and most likely the US would also. She was clearly a good addition to his new team though: clear headed under pressure, courageous, resourceful, smart and beautiful. A woman working with two men could either be honey or vinegar, and she was honey. Her presence was a buffer zone between the two men and the fact that she had settled quickly on the Russian (and he on her) as the object of her greatest attention, cleared up any rivalry issues from the start. It wasn't really a surprise to him. The American was not a one woman man, and he bet money with his knowledge of Kuryakin's background, that he was.

She was UNCLE's East German- British spy. War and politics made strange bed fellows, indeed.

He began. "We believe there is a very credible threat for an assassination plot against Prime Minister Harold Wilson, some key members of Parliament, and most likely some senior foreign diplomats. As of yet we are not certain of the organization that is behind this but we feel, safe to say, that the origins of the group are Nazis and perhaps a few other opportunists who escaped Germany at the fall of the Reich." He left a moment of silence for the group to consider the threat.

Turning in her chair Gaby spoke." Political leaders are always at risk of assassination and usually local police or military body guards handle it. What makes this so different?"

"Good question Miss Teller. Where this threat is unlike the run of the mill is the large scale focus of not only a hit on the Prime Minister but in the same strike multiple high ranking members of other governments. The purpose is to destabilize not only the British government but the other Allies. Essentially it would destabilize what is already a very shaky situation between the major world powers."

"And when you say the world powers you are essentially talking about The US and Russia. The major players in the Cold War." Solo finished. "Precisely," said Waverly.

"That is why even though the East and West might not be seeing eye to eye these days, both governments are willing to commit, UNCLE, to stop this.

"How do you know these things?" Illya's deep voice spoke from the back of the room. "And why does MI6 not handle this?"

"Yes, logical question Mr Kuryakin." Waverly was becoming more animated as he spoke, walking the room and occasionally stopping for emphasis as he outlined what the British spy agency had learned through covert operations working with US military intelligence. He unveiled a large plot brewing that would also involve the assassination of foreign diplomats on British soil all with the goal of destabilizing existing governments and heightening world tension.

"And you think it's a group of ex-Nazis behind this?"

"We are still working on that." Waverly paused, "but back to your question Mr Kuryakin. It is the opinion of MI6 that the talents of UNCLE would be better suited to take the lead in this task. As a small group, we are able to move much more quickly."

The room was silent for a moment as each person considered the consequences. Waverly let the silence stretch as he knew what he was asking for. Again it was Gaby who spoke. "So what's the plan?"

"Well this is what I've worked out so far. This nefarious organization is in need of a shooter, the assassin. Mr Kuryakin, because you are no longer seen with the KBG, our sources tell us that you have been moved by the espionage community to a Rogue status, meaning a mercenary, a gun, an assassin for hire. It's really rather fortuitous for us that this has happened as it puts you squarely in the position of being recruited as a very well qualified kill man. And of course once you've been contacted, we'll have a much better idea of just who is behind this." Gaby looked back at Illya, but the only reaction was his usual impassive, steely eyed expression.

Waverly continued. "Mr Solo you will act as Mr Kuryakin's front man, his handler. Your experience in criminal business dealings makes you well suited for such employment and minimizes Mr Kuryakin's need to travel openly. And you, Miss Teller, are a woman of some mystery in these dealings. You will frequently be present with Mr Solo as he meets potential clients, acting as a confidant, perhaps, and only in a suggested way of course, as a romantic interest. It puts you in the position of a keen observer, and an unknown in the deal. It's a risky business, but I think you already know that. So thoughts anyone?"

It was no surprise to Solo that the Russian was first to speak. "I do not want to be shot by MI6 agents who think I'm assassin." A straight to the point question, which was Kuryakin all the way, thought Solo.

Waverly answered, "MI6 is well aware of you Mr Kuryakin. Your photo has been widely distributed. Indeed they are part of your back up to keep you from getting shot by any other players who might be out there. There will always be plain clothes agents in your area ready. I suspect they are already out there now." By the scowl on the Russian's face he didn't like it.

"Maybe this organization, as you call it, has already made contact with Illya. Perhaps they are the ones who kidnapped him," added Gaby putting down her tea.

"That is a very good possibility although why they would have left him in dire circumstances is a puzzle, Miss Teller. Have you remembered anything else from last night?" Waverly questioned looking at Illya.

"No," was the short answer.

Waverly went on to say they would start tomorrow. There were well known shady cafes and bars branded to be frequent haunts of criminals. Illya's name was already floating around having been seen in London with business associates. It was now a fishing game, waiting to see who bit... hard.

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They walked in together, not arm in arm, but causally brushing shoulders as they moved. To the observer they were more than friends but not lovers, perhaps yet. She wore a black leather short skirt, with a black crop top and blood red scarf around her neck. Large gold hoops dangled for her ears and swayed as she moved as did her dark loosely waved hair.

The man with her whispered something in her ear as he pulled out her seat at a table near the back. Her response was a simple nod as she leaned in brushing her cheek with his seductively. He would talk with her later. Yes, she was playing her role, but he didn't look forward to explaining things to an angry Russian.

He clicked his fingers for the waiter and sat. This was their third day and the fishing had been plentiful but all small fish. Business associates that would never be missed, gang members gone awry, even a few spouses that were no longer appreciated, but not the big fish they were waiting for.

The four men that Solo had whispered to Gaby about watched them for awhile. "That's them. - the Big Fish," Solo had whispered to her as they sat down. "I can smell them from here." She took off her sunglasses and purposefully placed on the table. She looked at them provocatively. "Get your hook ready, "she said quietly.

The men walked over to the table leisurely, sizing them up. "Guten Nachmittag, mein Herr, Fraulein. May we sit?" Gaby could feel herself seethe with anger. These were the type of men who start wars, kill thousands of innocent people and think nothing of it. Like straw in a cow barn, just throw the people down and let them be used and thrown away like so much manure. She had three foster brothers whom she cared for as much as she'd ever been allowed to care for anyone. Two were dead, killed in an unholy war and one who escaped to Spain who she would probably never see again.

The men were talking to Solo and she had to shake herself back to reality. Back to her job; making sure it never happened again. They switched to English so as not to arouse suspicion. Yes, these were the Big Fish they had been waiting for. For his part Solo dealt with them smoothly, listening patiently, talking Swiss bank accounts, millions of dollars, and the abilities of the best assassin in Europe, Illya Kuryakin.

The lead man relaxed back in his chair, grinning. "So let me ask you out of curiosity, you make a very unusual business association, no? An American soldier who is also a wanted criminal, a beautiful East German woman, and a rogue former KGB operative. Not what I would expect."

He had introduced himself as Herr Hans Bauknecht. He was a thin man, medium height, with just a small patch of scrappy brown hair on top of his head, and round glasses that sat low on his nose. Nothing about him was special except a cold calculating look. His accent was educated German, probably university, smooth and deep. He was unlike his accomplices who were large men wearing dark canvas coats, with fedoras pulled low on their heads. They didn't speak, but sat with unmistakable bored hatred. She had seen those men during the war the kind whose only enjoyment was the feeling of power over others.

The business meeting concluded quickly. No handshake, just a piece of paper passed from Solo with an account number of a Swiss bank. "So when do meet Mr Kuryakin?" Bauknecht said.

"You don't", replied Solo. As the other man frowned at this, Solo continued, "Mr Kuryakin does not do lunch nor dinner dates or meet for cocktails." He gave a charming smile and pulled Gaby's chair out for them to leave. "I'm sure you understand. It's not your average business deal."

They walked out of the café confidently but as soon as they were out of view, he pulled Gaby's hand. With urgency he said, "Come on, we gotta get out of here. I don't trust them further than I could throw the big one." They hurried along the darkened side walk, but not fast enough. How they had gotten there ahead of him, Solo couldn't figure out. Maybe a back door or something, but the four men were standing in front of them blocking their way in a dim deserted street.

"Is there some detail we didn't cover?" Solo said sarcastically. The thin man moved closer and said insistently. "I want a meeting with Kuryakin."

"Well, I think I explained that, but if you'd like let me see what I can do." He made an attempt to slip between them holding Gaby's arm tightly. One of the thugs pulled Gaby away while shoving Solo aside.

"Tell Mr Kuryakin we will meet tomorrow night here. Assure him I will see no harm comes to his liebchen, as long as he arrives on time tomorrow. He caressed Gaby's cheek with the back of his hand, and added, "And tell Mr Kuryakin I admire his taste in women."

Solo raised his fist to put down the leering thug standing in front of him when a heavy dull thud hit the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was the tires of a dark car pulling away as he hit the street.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

He woke to a splitting headache. He gingerly opened his eyes as the most recent events began to focus in his head.

He'd lost Gaby!

He could hear talking in the background, Waverly he thought. And then the thought hit him as a sick feeling in his stomach; where was Peril! He didn't have to wonder too long as between his half opened eye lids he caught sight of a long pair of trousers nearby, sitting on the edge of what had been a coffee table. Illya had his elbows on his knees supporting his head in his hands. He was looking at the floor, quietly, but a quick glance around the room told a different story, a recent story, with broken furniture thrown about and a large hole in the wall.

"I should have been there, Cowboy. I would have killed them all," the voice was low and gloomy as he saw the American now awake. Solo had never seen a dejected Peril until now.

He sat up slowly as the room continued to misbehave by spinning around him."We'll get her back, I promise," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yes, we will and they will pay for this!" his tone suddenly changing to menacing. The Russian stood up, his height even more accentuated from Solo's angle. His accent was thick which Solo noticed usually happened when he was feeling passionate.

Waverly walked into the room and he and the Russian exchanged heated looks, but a brooding Illya was the one who walked away.

"How you feeling Mr Solo? A nasty bump to the skull, but the doctor didn't think there was any permanent damage."

"I've had worse," he said standing slowly. "Looks like Peril was pretty upset."

"Yes indeed. A difficult temper. I read that is his dossier, and I must say a rather expensive one too," as he looked around the room.

"How did you handle it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Russians, and especially our friend, do feel things… shall I say intensely. One just needs to know how to cope with it. Let them blow off steam, and then bring them back. I do believe, however, that our friend does have a legitimate psychological diagnosis, but on the other hand it makes him quite unsurpassed at what he does." Waverly spoke, the irony in his voice unmistakable. Then he said privately, "But I'm going to look into this further. I have a friend, a doctor of psychiatry, perhaps he might talk to our friend some day. Dreadful thing to live with, don't you think. And the cost…"

Waverly grimaced and turned speaking loudly, his voice carrying into the next room. "Mr Kuryakin, I do believe Mr Solo is feeling better. Why don't you join us so we can fix this unpleasant situation we have."

"I'm sorry Peril," Solo said as he swung up to a seated position. The room continued to swim around him for a minute and he held the arm of the sofa.

"Not your fault, Cowboy," was the response as the man walked into the room. "I should have been there. It's my fault."

"Let's move on from this, shall we, and just remember Miss Teller chose to do this job and to work with both of you. She knows the risks, and no one has forced her. Alright Gentlemen? Pointing fingers, especially at one's self isn't going to get us anywhere." Waverly's voice was clear, in command, and certain. "In many ways this meeting tomorrow puts us well ahead in our plan and potentially could save some valuable time."

While they waited no one slept that night or the next day except for a brief naps. Illya kept himself busy with a chess game he played against himself. At least he wasn't breaking anything and Solo knew the Russian was a professional. He knew he needed to keep focused and at the ready.

Waverly spent the time coordinating with MI6 for backup snipers, should things go badly at the meeting. It was the last resort as he didn't want to kill the messenger until he knew who was writing the letters; an analogy he used several times. And Solo rested on the couch, hoping the dizziness would pass, and that he could hold down at least a glass of water.

Twenty two hours later, they arrived in the alley. It seemed even darker to Solo than it had the night before. He drove with Illya sitting in the passenger seat. The man hadn't said a word the entire trip other than, "Yes," when Solo asked if he was ready. The street was as Solo remembered it from the night before: quite, deserted, and very dark.

The cafe that they had come from was also quiet. Maybe the word was out there could be trouble tonight, and an audience had already gathered in the shadows hoping for a show. The MI6 snipers were in place Waverly told them. He looked about the roof tops and saw no one, but he knew there were five snipers set at different angles all ready for a kill shot if necessary.

The thought crossed his mind, and unfortunately stayed there, that any of them could be a target. It takes a lot of trust to essentially work in a shooting gallery surrounded by expert MI6 snipers. What if the CIA decided he was just too much of a problem with his occasional pocket- lining soirees? Or that Illya indeed was too dangerous and this was an easy way of dispatching him? This was their third mission with Waverly, but did any of them really know him or just what UNCLE was really about? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

The second car was parked in the shadows and slowly pulled out as they arrived. Its headlights were out and it had a ghostly presence as it slipped into view. The same four thugs got out along with Bauknecht, who held Gaby by the arm. She walked calmly and in control. Solo was sure her heart was pounding though.

Illya got out of the car and stood ram rod straight, his black cap pulled tightly on his head. He stepped forward. "You ok?" he said to Gaby. His voice was composed. His accent thick. "Yes," she said loudly almost dismissively. "They have not harmed me, which is amazing since they're all a bunch of stupid guerillas."

Solo took a deep breath. He stood a few feet away from Illya. Easy girl, he said to himself. He knew Gaby was the bravest woman he'd ever meet, braver than most men he knew, but let's not push this thing cause it's not over till it's over.

Attempting to take things down a notch he said pleasantly, "So Herr Bauknecht, let me introduce Mr Kuryakin. You wanted to meet him and here he is." This brought a few scoffs from the thugs who seem to think this might be a good time to show how tough they were.

Ignoring them, Illya spoke to Gaby. "Are you sure you're ok? No one has touched you?" She held her head high and said clearly, "Yes."

"Then good" said the Russian. In a flash of motion he took two massive steps forward, spun her away from the stunned man's grip, whipped out a large revolver from his jacket and held it directly to the man's forehead. Dribble came out of the man's mouth as he flustered at what had just happened.

His hench men all started clumsily trying to get guns from their coats, causing the Russian to smirk. "Tell them to stop before one of them shoots himself in foot and brings police."

"STOP!" said the thin man. He was visibly shaking now as it was crystal clear to him, that the Russian had no qualms about leaving him dead in the street. Solo took Gaby's arm as she drifted now behind Illya, seemingly stunned too at the speed of what had just happened. He told her to get in the car. Solo had a strong feeling Illya was not done yet.

"So," the tall Russian said, dwarfing the shorter man, "You want to meet me. Now we've met. Do we have a deal or no?"

"Yes," stuttered the man. He attempted to pull himself together as the barrel of the gun continued to press on his forehead. "Yes." He said more firmly, standing a little straighter. He was trying to get back control of the situation which was pretty impossible considering the position he was in. "I want everything I told your business partners," he said hoping his voice didn't break. "I will transfer the money tonight to the Swiss account as your partner said."

"Good," said Illya pleasantly. You see, no need for us to come out on a cold evening like this. My friends handle everything."

His voice almost sounded friendly until the gun suddenly spun from the terrified man's head to the thug who stood the closest. The familiar spit of a silencer pierced the night and the man fell to the street, his eyes wide open in death.

"Now we're even," said Illya as he slowly walked backwards to the car his gun still held at arm's length for another shot if needed. Solo pulled his own gun and covered the rest of them as the two men walked slowly back to the car. Solo opened his door, the gun still trained on the shocked group as he backed away, all the while thinking you never want to get on the Russian's bad side.

If Gaby saw what happened, she said nothing. He could see in the mirror, as he drove away Illya sitting beside her in the backseat, with her head resting on his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped around her shoulder and the other still holding the revolver at the ready while his eyes scanned the road behind them.

He would ask the Russian later if he had to do that, but he knew the answer would be a single word and he already knew what it was.

Waverly's instructions were to meet at a new hotel location after Gaby's rescue. He drove there in a round about fashion making sure they were not followed. He was already thinking about Waverly's reaction.

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 _Thank you everyone for reading! You've been wonderful. I hope you're enjoying the story especially as the plot moves along. Notes/ reviews are always appreciated. Makes me feel loved._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It was still dark outside as they arrived at Waverly's hotel and if the American was waiting to hear a tirade from Waverly about the way things went down tonight, he didn't get it.

Waverly greeted Gaby attentively and wrapped a blanket around her as she entered the room. His manner was almost doting towards the woman.

Illya was tight lipped, probably ready to be criticized for his performance but Waverly said nothing about the killing.

He began," Gentlemen and lady, mission accomplished tonight with the return of Miss Teller." Speaking directly to her he said in a conciliatory tone, "and if you'd prefer to head off for some rest, that is perfectly fine. I can catch you up in the morning." She pulled the blanket up a bit higher, but declined to leave.

She looked at Illya who gave her a discrete nod and sat down beside her, one arm resting on her curled up knee. It was uncharacteristic for him to sit in a briefing, but it was characteristic for him to be protective of Gaby. All anyone had to do was think back to the events of the evening if they needed further proof. What went on privately between them was a mystery, but their public behavior for each other had grown more affectionate over the last mission.

Waverly continued. "We were able to identify two of the men involved. The one who was shot, well he was rather easy as his friends left him in the street but most importantly we were able to identify the lead man, a Herr Bauknecht. He is a known Nazi, but more importantly, I think, an opportunist. A power broker, a middle man."

Waverly put his hands in his pocket and slowly walked the room as he spoke. "He started his career as a supply clerk in the Nazi army, but quickly moved his way up to a colonel. He was known for ability to procure exotic items like gourmet food, designer clothing and perfumes that just weren't available anywhere. It made him a favorite of the Nazi command.

"He disappeared after the war, obviously very well hidden by someone and he recently just surfaced again as a middle man, brokering deals for small items like ladies silk stockings, and fine wine. Lately he's moved into bigger things, more deadly items like arms, rifles and such. And now he's discovered a new line of product which is assassinations. Just who he's working for, other than himself of course, is the mystery. We have intelligence on this but the pieces are still coming together. So in a nutshell, Miss Teller's kidnapping, although upsetting to us all, has revealed some vital information. I feel we'll know much more in a few days. In the meantime I think we should all get a good night's sleep. We'll meet again in the morning."

As they rose to leave, he called out to Illya, "And Mr Kuryakin, have you had any other memories from your abduction? They could be helpful, of course."

He turned back, his face beginning to show weariness, "Yes, I remember a large chair, and straps on my wrists. I remember trying to fight but was no good. There were voices, vague hard to remember. Just words. Some in Russian, some English I think. Faces, but I can't see them clearly." His voice trailed off with disappointment that he couldn't remember more.

"I see," said Waverly solemnly. "Well, very good, then. Keep us up to date if you remember anything else."

As they gathered to leave the room, Waverly called, "Mr Solo, might I ask you to stay another moment?" The American turned back. "Oh yes, and of course the rest of you may stay if you wish. It's really just a bit of messy stuff the CIA has asked me to deal with. Housekeeping sort of details, prison sentences, recent thefts in the area, that sort of thing. Really please stay if you'd like. You do both look a bit tired though." He spoke directly to Illya and Gaby.

Illya looked at Napoleon with exasperation. His expression clearly saying, really you need to be doing this kind of stuff now? He then looked back at Gaby who was ready to crumble on the floor. "No thank you," he replied quietly. "Good luck, Cowboy," he said to the American and he closed the door.

Solo hung his head, shaking it with a smirk of recognition and excuses at the ready. He started to speak when Waverly interrupted him. "Really Mr Solo that is not my reason for detaining you. Can I offer you a drink? I intend to have one."

Now he was puzzled. "Is there something ... else you wanted to talk to me about, Sir?"

"Yes, quite." He turned holding a scotch for himself and handing one to the American. He swirled the liquid in the glass, contemplating it as he prepared for what he was going to say.

Solo took a belt of his drink in anticipation of some bad news. It sure looked like that was coming next. Maybe he was getting shipped back to the states to start his prison sentence because he was getting replaced on the team. Getting shot by MI6 tonight might have been a blessing, he mused for a moment.

Waverly interrupted his thoughts. "Has our Russian friend said anything else to you privately about his abduction?" This was not what Solo expected.

"Noooo" the word slid out cautiously. "Should he have?"

"I have a confession Mr Solo." Waverly looked uncomfortable as he grimaced with a mild shake of the head as if trying to shake off an unpleasant thought. "You see, I had Mr Kuryakin kidnapped."

The other man's head snapped up and he put down his drink sharply. "You? Well, other than the why, can I ask what you were thinking that you almost killed him?"

"Yes, that part is embarrassing. A major foul up, wouldn't you say? A terrible fumble." He stood looking at the floor, still shaking his head. And mumbling to himself, he said, "and what the Russians would have made of it..."

He looked up at Solo who stared at him his face wide with anticipation of an answer. "You see this whole assassination plot has stirred up a lot of anxiety about our Russian allies... or are they. There were and still are many who feel the Soviets could be behind the whole affair and how convenient if they had a mole right here under our noses. And by the way, not only a mole, but a very competent operative. We needed to know Mr Solo, just whose side Mr Kuryakin is on."

Solo couldn't belief this conversation was happening. After the risks Illya had taken, the work he'd already performed for UNCLE, Waverly would think he might be a double agent?

"And?"

"I'm pleased to say, for as certain as we can be, our Russian friend has no nefarious intent on British soil, but we can't truly be certain because... Well they just didn't get much from Mr Kuryakin, which I had lobbied for saying you should just ask the man, instead of loading him up with drugs..., " his voice trailed off.

He turned to look out the window. "Bunglers, stupid incompetents." More than a trace of anger escaped through his words. "When they couldn't get our tight lipped friend to talk, they kept upping the dose, till they put him on the verge of a coma. And I'm afraid Mr Kuryakin's legendary temper rather scared them into keeping him heavily sedated. I guess he did put up quite a fuss."

He turned to Solo with an ironic smile before continuing. "Fortunately they had the intelligence, limited as it was, to call so we could send a rescue squad. They fled when you arrived for fear of being found out. That's why you found Mr Kuryakin alone. I had already called the Prime Minister's medical team when Miss Teller called my hotel."

He sighed as he turned back to Solo."I do feel terribly badly about this, you know. I'd like to apologize to Mr Kuryakin, but my sense is to wait for the right moment."

Solo leaned his head back in amazement as he took in the story. No wonder the phone was left behind. And the secretive talk between the doctor and Waverly. Poor Peril, or was it poor Waverly when and if he ever found out.

"So what would you like me to do?" He wasn't certain just how angry he should be about this news. Peril had saved his life how many times? He might be starting to lose count. He trusted the man, and had watched him risk his life multiple times for UNCLE. To think he wasn't trusted?

As if reading his thoughts, Waverly said pensively," The spy business, Mr Solo, is full of lies, deceit, and deception. You know what it is. It's a foolish man who doesn't watch his back, and watch everyone else.

"Our friend is an interesting man. He style tends to be ... overt, and very physical as we witnessed tonight. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not squeamish about what happened tonight. Indeed there is one less thug in the world. And as we both know, the KGB's motto could be shoot first, ask questions later. Mr Kuryakin is their best operative, but to assume that he is all muscle, simply a one man army would be a grave error. Indeed sometimes I wonder if he has such a persona to throw off any suspicions being a very competent and calculating spy."

"Are you saying Illya is a double agent?" At this point Solo had retrieved his drink and taken a big belt.

"No, I don't think so. I've been in this business a very long time, too long actually. I do have a nose for it, if you will. Mr Kuryakin is a very honorable man, a bit of an anomaly in the spy business, and I do believe his fondness for Miss Teller preempts any desire to be involved in a plan he finds immoral.

"However I do think there are Communists who could be players in this assassination plot. Probably not the Premier. He has too much to lose and to start another world war... well, you can think what you want of the Communists, but they aren't stupid. But there are others, underlings perhaps who see themselves moving into power if the current government was overthrown. Of course the good news is when they're exposed, if indeed they are part of this, the Soviets will take care of the problem themselves, and most thoroughly I'd guess to say."

Solo would not want to be there for that nor would any sane person. The KGB was known for its brutal methods. He involuntarily took a larger swig of his scotch then he intended.

He cocked his head and began slowly, "So if you suspect Illya of being a double agent, what about me? Am I a suspect? Perhaps a double agent? After all, my reputation is not squeaky clean. Maybe we should get this on the table, or should I just roll up my sleeve and hope I don't end up in a coma." His voice was laced with sarcasm now as the information about Illya still angrily cooked in his mind.

Waverly smiled indulgently. "You Mr Solo are a different story. Could your services be bought by a foreign power? Perhaps. But at your heart you're a thief, a spy maybe by training, but a thief at heart. You steal for the thrill, the accomplishment. Yes, you've made a good living at it- well at one time you did- but your delight is found in acquiring a desired object. Perhaps it's the same with the ladies. Yes?"

He paused for effect. "And as I'm sure you know my background, I have my own ... bad habits. Oh no, I am not casting judgments. Far from me to be the person to do such a thing. But I do know for you the pleasure is in the adventure, the challenge of obtaining the desired object, not in keeping it. Besides I'm always watching you, you know." His last words came with a perplexing smile. The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

Solo examined his empty glass as he put it down. Waverly was so right and so wrong at the same time. He wasn't done with this topic but for now he said, "So what do you want me to do?"

"Please, let me know if our Red Friend does mention any memories popping up. I would like to address it immediately with Mr Kuryakin. I'd hate to see things get out of hand."

Solo downed the rest of his scotch and could have easily had another, but decided he needed to get out. He needed some time to think about this whole UNCLE thing and just who was he working for.

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Herr Bauknecht seethed. He'd been embarrassed in front of his men, lost his number two man, and had his reputation severely damaged by the performance of the Russian. He pounded down his third scotch and felt the burn all the way to his stomach. He was a respected power broker having handled many covert negotiations during the war. Many a Nazi was smuggled out of Germany and France via his connections. And political prisoners were added and subtracted for all players because of his deft handling of delicate affairs. Money moved through his channels as easy as rain water through a street drain and with little notice.

Tonight was a major disaster. He was supposed to be the one in control, telling others what was required of them. And then the big dim-witted Russian came through like a bulldozer and ran right through his operation. His reputation as the best, most competent had just been destroyed. Word would get back. It always did, and his life was most likely in jeopardy now as he couldn't imagine his Russian clients being too happy with this.

The rag tag crew of Nazis was no worry. He could expose them easily to save his own skin. It was the other faction, the disgruntled Russians who worried him. They operated dangerously, just under the KGB's radar, but they were well organized, and well funded with plundered wealth from their German occupation.

Their goal was to outrage the Western powers with key assassinations and place the blame squarely on the Kremlin. With the current regime challenged by the ire of the West, they could easily move into power. The fact that he, the power broker, had Illya Kuryakin, a known super KGB agent at the ready, just made the resulting anarchy feast all the better.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and ran his hands still stinking from sweat through his wiry stubble of hair on top of his head. He would make the Russian pay for this; all of them pay. The business deal would go ahead. He'd let the Russian take down Wilson, diplomats, members of Parliament and their mothers too if the Russian wanted. Hell, he can kill the whole city and that could only be good. But as soon as he's finished with his dirty business, they will all answer to me.

He looked out his hotel window and then smashed the empty glass on the marble floor.

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 _Waverly is so fun. I think I'll do a story with him… someday. Thanks to Storm Dog for catching a faux pas._

 _Thoughts- always appreciated, plot holes appreciated even more. Thanks for sticking with me._


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

The next few days were thankfully uneventful, Gaby thought. Waverly was still waiting as intelligence on the Swiss account dribbled in. According to the deal worked out by Solo, payments were set up in installments, beginning with a hefty initial sum, which the German had already made, followed by specific amounts for each assassination executed. These were elusive dealings and it took much back door cajoling, diplomacy and an extremely well connected individual to get things done, and it wouldn't be fast.

In the mean while, Illya and Gaby walked the city. It was important they continued the appearance of Illya's preparation for a blood bath, as they were very sure they were being watched by Bauknecht 's men.

To the casual observer, they were tourists or perhaps a business man with his wife taking in the sights. They had chosen wardrobes appropriate to their roles. Illya wore a dark sweater with grey slacks, and Gaby chose a rather drab navy blue dress. She would have preferred to wear something more flattering from her West Berlin shopping trip, but she understood the necessity of blending in.

They would stop frequently and he would point out different elements to the buildings: the Parliament Building, Number 10 Downing St, and many Embassies, always looking relaxed and casual.

Gaby would have enjoyed it more if it wasn't for the reason they were there. She knew that the mission was important and believed that Waverly had Illya's back with MI6 agents posted at the ready. While Illya spent his time looking covertly for escape routes, and target sites as if getting ready for the job, she found herself searching for the promised MI6 backup.

Despite her worry, she enjoyed the days being with him. She had never been outside of Germany. And the furthest Illya had ever been was Germany and it certainly was not on holiday. They both knew a fair amount about Britain from books and he loved to point out how the architecture was inferior to Russian, and she took to teasing him about it. Happily he responded in kind, teasing her about German engineering, citing the superiority of the Russian Lavochkin and Yakovlev fighter planes over the German Messerschmitt.

It was a happy banter and he managed to stop himself from making it anything more than just happy banter. She smiled and laughed and he grinned. She wondered if he ever did really smile but she was satisfied to be treated to a grin.

He seemed most relaxed when he was working she thought. He told her once that his mind was more rested when it had something to focus on. It's when he was idle that his thoughts became heavy. When he would think of his family; his father a good man who made one grievous error that banished him to place that could suffice as a cold version of hell on earth, and a shame that destroyed his family.

It was also the shame the KGB boss used very effectively against him, she observed. He would never tell her what was said in phone conversations with Oleg but there was no doubt the other man used it as a most effective prod to keep Illya in line.

Her mind floated back to the end of their first mission when she arrived at the roof top deck of the hotel. Illya and Napoleon were having a relaxed drink together, with a small curious fire burning on the table. She knew immediately what it was and smiled. Good thinking, a thought that was seconded a few minutes later by Waverly himself. She knew there was another copy of her father's computer disk and wondered where it was although seeing the fire, she knew it was Napoleon that had it.

It was just as well as Illya may not have been able to sacrifice the disk being he was just as much a prisoner as his father except his prison was built of guilt and shame and the walls were constantly reinforced by the KGB. She noticed he had his father's watch again. He said it was a "gift" from Cowboy. Something happened between the two of them and she knew it was for the better.

Perhaps the men had figured out their roles together, but she felt that she and Illya were still figuring out who they were... together. They were very clear as to _who_ they were as individuals. Both strong willed, smart, and independant. Independant because they had to be.

Although she initially was frightened of him and for good reason, she couldn't help feeling an attraction. He was powerful physically and in personality. He had a handsome face that didn't really match his size, she thought. In the past men she'd meet like him usually had faces like mad dogs.

She hated herself and him for feeling an allure. Her hatred made itself apparent in her drunken dance in their first hotel room. She taunted him and when she couldn't get a rise she tackled him in a wrestling match. She hoped he would hurt her to prove that he was just an oversized ape, a non-thinking, non-feeling Russian machine. But he didn't hurt her or take advantage of her intoxicated state. Instead, he carefully carried her to bed and tucked her in so she could sleep it off.

He had his own fun with her the next day as she wobbled on her way to the car, with an obvious hangover. They were going to the race track to meet her uncle. Giving her a sly glance, he said he had enjoyed last night and added that it was good to know each other more 'intimately'. It took her a moment to recover from his unexpected tease, and she realized he may actually have a sense of humor.

Early on he had taken it as his responsibility to be her protector. He felt her attentions and slights intensely. It was clear though from the first time they met, perhaps even back to their road race battle through the sleeping streets of East Berlin, that he was attracted to her. His steel blue eyes would soften when he looked at her as his assumed fiancé and she got the clear impression he liked that imaginary situation.

Even now, acting as a married couple, he would pat her hand and lightly rest his own hand on hers as she held his arm. He would lean in closely as he explained something and she knew he felt the tingle just as much as she did. What happened from here, she didn't know. There were both operatives working in very dangerous situations. Did they have any business falling in love, or perhaps at this point, it was just a case of admitting that they already were in love?

Illya was KGB. They owned him. He was only on loan until they said he wasn't. Would she go to Russia with him when he was called back? She'd had enough of the Communists when they seized East Berlin. Would she really want to live in a Communist Russia? And would he want her to? Would he defect and stay in England with her or perhaps they'd both go to America with Napoleon. She felt certain they could seek asylum there.

These were dreams, fantasies, and she'd already seen in her short years, life didn't have room for dreamers. But maybe some things weren't meant to be forever. Maybe some things were to be only now. She gripped his arm a little tighter as they walked.

While Illya and Gaby played happy tourists, Napoleon worked with Waverly studying the intelligence reports that were coming in as well as the paper trail for the Swiss bank deposit. Waverly was beginning to appreciate the other man's keen mind for subterfuge. As Solo said, it takes a thief to know a thief.

Swiss banking was based on anonymity but a calculating mind and an excellent knowledge of currency made for superior deciphering of the bits of information as they came in. The more information they received it, the more it looked like the conspiracy had a strong Russian contingent.

There was definitely Nazi influence there too, and Waverly couldn't help but wonder just why the Russians would want any mix up with Nazis, but as he knew from too much experience, the desire for power makes very strange bed fellows.

It was even more troubling as it put the question of Illya Kuryakin's allegiance front and center again with the British MI6. Yes, there were snipers out there with the mission of making sure no other faction took a shot at him, but it was not lost on Waverly or Solo that they could also be positioned to take the Russian down if they deemed him a threat.

Waverly made a point to pass on all the information to the American. His hands were tied in the matter, but Solo's were not. He knew the American would use the information wisely.

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Herr Bauknecht sat quietly at the edge of the River Thames. It was a fascinating mess of sunken cargo barges, and debris that still hadn't been dredged out of the river even this many years later. The main channel was clear but the effects of the Blitz were still there and it left an informal reminder of the city's devastation. It also stunk. In its muddy water he imagined there might still be bodies left at the bottom. It was a morbid thought but not depressing as it pleased him to think at least some Brits still suffered. His beloved Germany, the Third Reich, should have risen to rule all of Europe. Britain would have fallen he was sure if only the United States hadn't intervened.

His attention jumped back to the scene in front of him as a rowing scull navigated between the sunken chaos as if it was just so many Sunday picnickers out for a beautiful day. Bloody British and their stiff upper lip he thought to himself.

This afternoon had brought some very interesting news. He called them his little canaries. They were well paid informants in the British government and even a few in MI6, and they were singing. Singing about a new organization, with the odd name of UNCLE. It was made up of a small select team of multi-national spies, and it seemed his new business scheme of assassinations had run right into it. Indeed it appeared the American was not an escaped convict, but a CIA operative, the Russian was not a rogue agent, but on loan from the KGB, and the woman, a recruit whose back ground was not clear but was as much a part of it as the men.

So this UNCLE, or whatever it was, planned a double cross. Take the money and expose him, his plot, and co-conspirators. It changed his whole outlook on things. He smiled as he absent mindedly threw pebbles in the stinking water.

And then he began to chuckle to himself and then his laugh grew louder until the area around him rang with its raucous noise.

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 _Oh, I'm enjoying my bad guy. I wonder who would make a good casting choice. Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you're enjoying it. Notes always appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

It was late when they entered the hotel lobby after their day of walking London and Gaby's feet were killing her. Heels, even short ones, we're not a shoe her feet were used to. Flat mechanic boots were still her footwear of choice, but they certainly weren't refined and would have been out of character. They had walked much of the city including the Parliament and the old part of the city where many of the embassies were located. She was tired and she knew Illya was too.

The effects of the sodium pentothal which had been pumped into body still lingered although he made no mention of it. His reactions seemed a little slower to her sometimes. He fell asleep immediately once he got into bed, something that was a little disappointing. But she knew he was still recovering and he didn't want to admit he wasn't up to par.

The hotel lobby was quiet as they entered. But something didn't feel right. He felt it too and she could feel him tense as she held his arm. He slowed just as two men suddenly sprang from the sofas, and in a flash, gun fire erupted as they began to spray the room with rapid shots.

He was already diving behind a thickly padded couch on the opposite side of the room as the shots began. She bumped heavily on the carpeted floor as he landed on top of her. The feather stuffing from the couch was drifting through the air like snowfall from the initial explosion of gunfire. The guns had stopped just as quickly as they had started. She swore the entire room must be able to hear her heart pounding.

"Quiet," he whispered and pushed her down as he pulled his gun from his jacket. The room was silent with just the muffled sound of moving feet on carpet as the two gunmen maneuvered. They weren't taking any chances that they'd hit their target and they moved cautiously. Gaby imagined them closing in their location, one coming in from each side. Her heart was pounding and her eyes were wide open but all she could see were dust clumps stuck to the thick carpet as she lay on her side tucked up hard against the back of the couch.

She couldn't see Illya but could feel him moving beside her, pulling up his knees. He had pushed her tightly to the back of the sofa his body now maneuvered lying face up firmly packed against her.

Then like an arrow out of a bow, he sprung to a seated position just as the man at his feet came into view. He fired and then swung the gun over his head and begun firing behind him blindly. The smell of gunpowder sunk on her as she wondered if he was alive.

The room was alive again with shouts and more pings as bullets seem to rage around them. He was on his feet crouching and abruptly dragged her up. His grasp on her arm was so firm it hurt, she would remember at a later time. The scene in the room was chaos with another shooter firing an automatic gun from behind the hotel desk, and the two thugs that had attacked them now firing back.

"Must be MI6," he yelled over the din. "I must thank Waverly for that," he yelled. "He keeps them busy and we escape," as he pulled her out a side door.

A short distance down the street at a quaint little tavern, Napoleon Solo sought his relaxation for the night. After days of pouring over covertly obtained telegrams, receipts, and money transfers he needed a diversion and in front of him sat a dewy green eyed, well endowed, perfectly shaped diversion with full red lips. She was infatuated with his American accent and his tales of heroism in the war. He kissed the back of her hand calling her "his princess" and she was purring like a kitten.

He knew this was the time for the final play, and as he turned on his most irresistible charm, he heard the all too familiar sound of distant gunfire. Illya and Gaby. You guys pick the worst times to get into trouble, the thought flashed in his mind. Quickly excusing himself, he gave the woman a peck on the cheek, saying, "later," and ran for the door, leaving behind an extremely confused and extremely frustrated woman.

Outside in the alley beside the hotel, Gaby heaved out between rushing breathes, "What happened?"

"Ambush," he replied, breathing heavily. "I hate ambush." Which made her wonder for one foolish second if anyone liked them. Normally she would have teased him for an answer, but this was not that time. He searched the street for his next move. She noticed a stain of deep red on his left arm. "Scratch," he said simply, "too slow". Two cars came screeching into the alley, their headlights threatening to reveal them. He grabbed her arm again and ran for the cover of a laundry truck parked next to the building.

"Get in and see if you can find keys," he whispered as he pushed her up into the cab. She didn't even bother looking for keys. He wasn't the only one who knew how to hot wire.

Solo cautiously approached the hotel lobby. The gun fire had ceased and he heard cars moving close by. Feathers still floated through the air like an off season celebration of Christmas thanks to the breeze blowing through the space. He stepped over one body as he looked for signs of his companions.

He heard a groan from behind the desk and both fear and dread mixed in his soul as he walked carefully towards it, gun drawn. Behind the desk was the night clerk. Beside him was a Browning Light automatic rifle. The middle aged, very common looking man with thinning hair croaked, "MI6, Sir. I got one, wounded the other, I think, before they got me. Kuryakin and the woman ran out the side door to the alley. I'm ok." He motioned to the door with a thrust of his head, "GO!"

Solo ran out the side door just in time to see a truck rumbling by in the death throes of stalling. No one appeared to be in the driver's seat and the passenger door was open, swinging wildly as the truck bucked back and forth as the engine strained against the clutch.

The glaring light of the parked cars shone over the scene like a Hollywood movie set. He could see the truck's target was a group of shooters who were now firing at it madly as it headed for their position like a crazed out of control tank. Bullets were hitting the truck like a hard rain until a shot hit a tire and the demented vehicle stopped but not before bursting in flames. His heart skipped as he thought what if Illya and Gaby were in it, but in the now brightly illuminated alley, he saw two figures running towards the back of the hotel. With the fire ball blocking their view, he doubted the gunmen could see them.

His first guess was it was the Nazi Bauknecht, with either a change of heart or a grudge match against Illya. His second guess?

His mind shot back to the revelation of Illya's kidnapping. Could it be British Military Intelligence just wanted the Russian out of the way? Not likely. The hotel clerk could have completed that order with no problem, and snipers could have easily picked him off anytime over the last two days. It really didn't matter right now because it was clear whoever it might be they were looking to make some dead bodies.

He quickly checked the roof tops for snipers. Knowing that the kindly, slightly befuddled desk clerk was secretly an MI6 agent, he hoped there might be more. They were outgunned and out manned. Illya would have already used all his ammo, and Solo only had his revolver. Not much of a fair match.

Illya was struggling for air and stumbled as he pulled Gaby along the alley. It was the effects of the sodium pentothal overdose he'd gotten earlier in the week she could see. He had walked the hotel area earlier in the week, as he did to every hotel they stayed in. He explained that every spy needs a pre-planned escape route, preferably three, and he always looked for five. For Illya, the last two often involved roof tops, canals or sewer drains. She was hoping the last option is not where they were headed.

She heard someone approaching fast from behind. "Illya!" She tugged hard on his arm almost causing him to stumble again. He pushed her into a small corner behind a trash bin, as he waited for the intruder.

The man came hurdling by them and the Russian caught him by the throat in his good arm. "Peril, it's me. One of the good guys!" Solo gasped as he wrestled with the iron gripe around his neck. "Oh, sorry," came the reply as Illya let him go. Solo took a good look at his friends through the dancing light of the burning truck. Gaby looked shaken but good, Peril was breathing like he'd run a marathon and had a bloody left arm.

"So what's up for tonight? A little spy vs. spy?" he said breezily. He was rewarded with a glare and grimace from the Russian. "I think it's Bauknecht and a bunch of his heavies.

"Why Bauknecht? Solo asked.

"I don't think he likes me," came the answer with a smirk.

"No," I bet he doesn't. You know Peril, you really need to learn how to make friends. You don't have to shoot everyone who makes you mad."

"Why?"

Solo rolled his eyes in response.

They could hear the roar of a helicopter in the distance. "Choppers. Maybe we'll be saved by the cavalry." At his companion's quizzical looks, he clarified, "Waverly and some of his friends with big guns."

"That would be good right about now," Gaby said. But before they could celebrate, they saw the headlights of a rapidly approaching car. "Get down!" Solo commanded. He waited for the split second the car came around the trash bin before he stepped out and took deadly aim at the driver. The car careened into the side of the building just missing a crushing end to the trash bin and anyone near it.

Three men jumped out with pistols intent on shooting anything that moved. Illya sprang to his feet and dispatched the first one who stepped unknowingly within his reach. There was the sickening sound of bone snapping, and the man slipped to the ground. The second and third man were not so slow though. As the first victim fell to the ground the second man aimed his gun directly at the Russian's chest, while the third man picked up the dead man's gun and trained it on Solo. Bauknecht slowly exited the back seat of the car.

"Gentlemen, we meet again. And how fortunate am I to have _two_ face to face meetings with the famous assassin Illya Kuryakin." He sneered the name.

"Bauknecht", Solo said, "You hear that chopper? It will be here any minute now." The far off wail of klaxon horns was sounding in the background. More cavalry he concluded. Just get here _real soon_ he prayed.

"Excellent timing to pick up your dead bodies," the German sneered again. "But I just seem to missing your very attractive lady friend. Find her!" He took the gun from the man who was guarding Solo and motioned with a shake of his head to begin searching. Both agents stood now with a gun trained on them.

From the corner of his eye, Solo could see Illya tense. At any other time he had no doubt the Russian could jump the man and kill him in one smooth step, but seeing as he was not the machine he was usually, he had grave doubts he could pull it off without taking a bullet point blank to the chest. He hoped sincerely Peril wasn't going to try it.

He knew he didn't have the speed or training to pull the move off and decided he'd just have to hope for his own sake that Peril didn't think he actually was Superman, and try it.

The right moment would come, he knew. That's what his specialty was all about: timing.

So he did what he did second best to stealing: talking. "So have you had a change of heart but were afraid a telegram might arrive too late to stop some murders?" His voiced was laced with confidence and sarcasm.

"You Americans, always thinking you're so funny, so clever, smarter than everyone else." Bauknecht spit the words out. "And you dirty Russians…" he faced Illya with contempt chiseled on his face. "How dare you think you're better than anyone! Your race would be lucky to be enslaved by the Third Reich!" He spit on the ground by Illya's boot.

"And you should be the lord commander of all?" Solo replied immediately taunting him. He needed to get the German's attention back on him before Peril became unglued and got himself shot.

Bauknecht glared at Solo and it looked like he was going to pull the trigger, but he took a few breathes and laughed. His face was screwed up in a deadly leer. "Perhaps we could all be friends and I'll just call you both my _UNCLE_." He was obviously enjoying the surprise that showed on the men's faces. "Yes, I have my own intelligence, and I'd say it's quite a bit better than yours." He was so excited to confront the two men with their blown cover, Solo thought the German might wet himself.

To Peril's credit, he stood absolutely still, probably the hardest thing in the world for that man to do, Solo thought briefly. He was letting Solo handle it. Partners. Each has their role, their job, their specialty. And talking was Solo's.

" _UNCLE_ you say. Then you must recognize we see who you are, who you're working for, your connections. The CIA, and the KGB all know this." The words came with conviction and power. "Sure kill us and UNCLE will still have you. There's a lot more of us than you." He knew of course that wasn't true, but it sounded good, he thought.

Solo's continued effort to buy time was broken by a grunted shout. Out of the shadows came a seriously doubled over man dragging a fighting woman behind him. That momentary lapse of attention was just what both men were waiting for. Illya leapt at the Bauknecht's henchman in front of him, disarming him in one fluid motion with a gut strike using his good arm, while Solo smashed Bauknecht with a cannon like blow to the face. He grabbed the gun as the man fell.

The brute dragging Gaby fired a wild shot hitting the brick wall and sending shards of flying masonry over the two agents. She took her opportunity and attempted to knee him again in the groan, missing her mark but hitting him squarely in the knee, causing him to stumble to the ground. She followed it up with a vicious kick to the back of the other knee and he let her go. He caught himself though, and managed to keep his gun trained on the men as he limped towards the car. The German and his one remaining thug leaned heavily on each other as they made their way, with guns still aimed at the agents.

They could see the lights of the approaching chopper. Illya had the gun that a few moments ago threatened to leave him dead in the alley. Now the question was did it have any ammo left. Did any of the guns have any bullets left?

Solo would later explain the definition of Mexican stand-off as the men held weapons on each other as the car turned and started down the alley. Illya started after it, but Solo held his arm out to stop him. "Peril, I know from personal experience you can just rip that car to pieces, but my friend, you don't sound so good. Let it go."

He could see the bold determination in the Russian's eyes and wondered if he might actually have to try to stop him. Fortunately a voice from behind him brought him back to reality.

"Illya?" It was Gaby. She shuffled over to Napoleon, holding the man's arm as she watched the Russian. He stopped, his attention completely diverted from the escaping car to her voice. Solo spoke. "It's ok Peril. They won't get far. UNCLE knows who they are, and who they were working for. I think our job might be done."

Illya took a deep breath and began coughing hard as his lungs protested the sudden large volume of air he had just drawn in. He bent over bracing his hands on his knees as the coughing subsided. Gaby walked to him and wordlessly hugged him around the waist burying her head in his chest. He slowly straightened and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, turning his head slightly and resting his cheek on her hair. The moment didn't last long as the blades of the chopper overhead whipped the dirt and grime up off the street losing them in a cloud of dust, and roaring wind.

The chopper wouldn't be able to land in the tight space, but its lights blew through the space, illuminating it like it was noon on a rare London bright sunny day. Amid the blowing grim came the angry clamor of the klaxon horns as multiple military vehicles jammed in the alley with the now smoldering laundry truck stuck in the middle like some kind of strange ugly garden sculpture.

Men in assault gear jumped from the cars, guns drawn and trained on the three agents as they raised their arms in surrender. Solo always made a point of looking bored for these encounters thinking it made him much less like a bad guy. For one brief second, he wondered if the bad guys did that in the same situation.

Gaby stood in front of Illya, brave woman, and yelled to the approaching team that the man couldn't raise his left arm because he'd been shot. It was Waverly's appearance that finally called off the dogs, as Solo saw it. He appeared from the side door of the hotel, and although they couldn't hear what was said, guns were lowered, and the helicopter left in the direction of the escaping car.

The wail of an ambulance siren was rapidly approaching. Waverly ran, looking relieved. "I've got medical on the way. I say, looks like we need it," as he stared at Illya's bloody arm. "I want you all to go with them. You can give a brief statement to the lieutenant here on the way and I'll see you all later." He patted Solo on the shoulder saying, "Good work all of you," and ran back to the man in charge while the noise of the chopper faded in the distance.

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 _Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted. Last week was busy. But, not done yet! More to come. Thanks for your patience._


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Waverly put down the phone. It had been a long night for him. The immediate threat of assassination was thwarted. Another night everyone could sleep safely in their beds.

He chuckled to himself at what a ridiculous idea safety was. No one was ever safe. The only reason anyone felt safe is only because they didn't know that danger was sitting on the front door step just waiting for someone to open the door. The phenomena of _What you can't see, can't hurt you_. Perhaps someday he'd have a sign made for his desk, if he ever stayed in any one place long enough to have one.

There were plots brewing all over the world and he only knew of some of them. He hoped it was the biggest ones. But you have to accept success when you get it. Tonight a plot had been wrecked, destroyed by his little band of three. Bauknecht had escaped with his comrades. A loss but they'd find him. No doubt he'd go into hiding for awhile but he'd be back, unless of course the Soviets got a hold of him first.

The Kremlin was on the hunt for the men who bank rolled the German. He shuddered to think what that might look like. Torture, then a quick trip to Siberia minus a few fingers and ask questions later. He winced involuntarily as the thought brought him to Kuryakin's father. Last he knew the man was alive, but maybe that wasn't a blessing. He'd been there a few times for prisoner exchanges and knew that for most death would be preferable.

He walked to the window to erase the picture from his mind. It was still dark out but the sun would be coming up soon. London slept and the street lights shinned for the occasional hack as it drove by.

He'd see his agents later in the day. He had shipped them out immediately before the newspapers arrived. The less the world knew of UNCLE, the better. He had concocted a story to cover the violence at the hotel and higher ups would insure no further questions were asked. As far as the public would know there was a gang fight and evil no-goods died. Case closed.

There were a few injuries to be dealt with. Kuryakin had taken a grazed bullet shot to the upper arm. Apparently it had ripped the man's arm up pretty good but not a permanent injury. And the doctor was recommending the Russian be put on bed rest until his lungs finally healed. He smiled at that idea. Good luck.

Gaby had some bruised ribs and scrapes from her run in with Bauknecht's thug. He hoped it didn't persuade her to look for another form of employment. She was a tough, capable woman and was becoming even more valuable as a team member. Her level headedness in the face of eminent danger was impressive and her ability to defend herself had come a long way since Rome. She could leave if she wanted unlike the others. The American could leave too, he supposed, but that would be to a prison block and he showed to inclination to act on that.

Solo seemed unscathed except for a terminally injured Adriano Roberti suit. The man seemed to have terrible luck with clothing.

They'd all been sent to a secret emergency clinic he'd set up outside one of the major hospitals, again as a precaution against the news paper reporting. There had been a suggestion of sending them to Churchill's old field hospital but he had nixed that plan knowing that he didn't want to bring back any memories for the Russian till he'd had a chance to clear things up with him.

He'd get some sleep himself perhaps. It would be the first time in three days, but he rarely needed sleep and even then just a few hours at a time. It was a trait that had made him very successful as a field agent in his younger days, and unfortunately led to his down fall as there are times when a man can have too much time on his hands.

Solo arrived in mid-afternoon looking chipper and ridiculously handsome as always. Gaby and Peril, he said, would be arriving later. Somehow the doctor got Peril to take some pain medication, how he couldn't imagine, and the big man went out while they bandaged his arm. Gaby stretched out on a cot nearby and slept. He'd talked her into something to help her sleep saying she might as well since Illya would be out for awhile. For his part, Solo had returned to the hotel for sleep in a real bed, a hot shower, and some clean clothes.

Waverly was glad to have a few moments alone with the American. He'd grown to appreciate the man, finding some shared qualities with him. And yes, he was a thief and a liar as were so many of his best friends. He felt a kinship already.

"Congratulations on a mission well done. A pity Bauknecht got away, but he'll show up again unless of course the KGB finds him." He gave a little chuckle at the thought. "Can I offer you a drink? It is past noon so the doctor won't get on my knickers," he said with a wide smile.

"Did you get a final trace on the Russian money?" Solo asked as he accepted the glass.

"Oh, it's still working. You know these things take time, and the Swiss do try spectacularly hard to maintain privacy, but a few fingers here and there do loosen things up, but as so many things, it takes time."

He held his glass up in a toast. "To _UNCLE._ " After a clink of glass and a hearty gulp of the potent liquid he continued.

"And Mr Kuryakin and Miss Teller, I hear, will have complete recoveries. All good news. You do know things don't always work out as smoothly as I'd like with you three, and I must say as a team your efforts are somewhat fragmented but it does seem to work out in the end." Waverly sat down on the sofa spreading his arms across the top expansively.

He continued pensively. "Mr Solo, wouldn't you agree that the best spies tend to be devious, cunning and rather smart? Of course the best of the best have talents well beyond that, be it thievery, physicality, charm, allure. You get my point. Of course these aren't always the personality traits that make for the most trustworthy people, are they."

Solo wasn't quite sure where the other man was headed with this but thought this might be a good time to ask about the whole double agent thing that they hadn't really finished. And while he was at it he would ask a bit more about just who is Alexander Waverly and UNCLE.

However it wasn't going to happen just yet as a few phone calls diverted the older man's attention and shortly after the rest of the team arrived. Peril had a sling and a bandaged left arm. Gaby moved a little slowly and winced as she went to sit, but both appeared within the realm of normal, or at least for Cold War spies.

Waverly congratulated them all, pouring another round and reviewed the current status of the Swiss bank account investigation. Peril took his usual position of standing although this time instead of leaning against the wall he stood behind Gaby, one hand lightly resting on her shoulder. Solo wasn't sure if it was her benefit or his. Those two did puzzle him.

Waverley continued on about MI6 and the cold trail Bauknecht left. Amazingly the man seemed to disappear into thin air although they were still pursuing leads. He finally paused awkwardly, as he directed his attention to Illya.

"One more bit of business to finish then...Mr Kuryakin there is something I do need to discuss with you." Waverly looked uncomfortable and Solo straightened as he knew what was coming, and worse what was going to happen after. He'd let Peril tear the place up to his heart's content, but he would stop him if he went after Waverly himself. Not that he had any allegiance to the man, or at least not until they'd had a talk about trust, double agents and the like. He just knew attacking Waverly would be big trouble for the Russian and probably an immediate dismissal back to Moscow, and for some reason, he just wasn't ready for that.

"It's about your abduction and who was responsible for it."

"Yes, I know this," the Russian said matter of factly. "You ordered it."

"Oh!" Replied Waverly genuinely surprised. "Ah well then ... I certainly must congratulate you in...controlling your... response." His face broke out with an expression of relief, and then suddenly turned dark as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it did instantly.

"You know who kidnapped Illya, because _you_ did it? Why?" Gaby interjected angrily. Her question came out as a cry of disbelief and hurt.

Solo walked to the window to avoid having to react. He didn't want to let on he'd known the truth behind it until everyone's reactions were on the table.

Illya spoke his voice low and impassive. "My kidnapping was MI6 idea or maybe Waverly. Big concern I might be a double agent. Yes?"

"Ah well... something like that," the other man answered sheepishly, with an embarrassed expression.

Gaby was on her feet. Waverly knew this was coming. "You almost killed him!" She blurted out.

"Yes. I know. It was a terrible bungle and I sincerely apologize to Mr Kuryakin, and to you, Miss Teller, and you, Mr Solo... certainly to your back for having to carry Mr Kuryakin out of the building." His voice faded knowing his attempt to lighten the situation had not only failed but probably made it worse with the woman who looked at him with incredulity.

"How could you not trust him? He's saved my life, Napoleon's, and probably some day, yours too! He's done everything you wanted and more and you reward that by almost killing him and more so, by not trusting him!"

"Things went terribly wrong, and we were in fact getting ready to transport Mr Kuryakin to hospital when you and Mr Solo arrived. We couldn't take the chance of being uncovered so the medical staff simply abandoned the building. That's why the ambulance arrived so quickly. It was already on its way."

Gaby was ready with an outraged comeback but Illya interrupted. "You will do this never-again." He spoke firmly but without the threatening tone both Gaby and Solo would have expected. "If you have question, you ask me. Yes? I will tell you what you want to know."

Waverly was relieved for the moment. He had not expected this conversation to go this way although he was certainly relieved not to have to deal with the Russian's anger. He should have anticipated the woman's response though. You're getting old, he thought to himself.

"If I might add, Mr Kuryakin that was my preferred avenue. I'm afraid I was over ruled this time by some higher ups. I will let not it happen again. My word." His words and expression conveyed the sincerity he felt. He thought about stepping forward for a handshake, but it didn't look like the Russian intended to offer his hand so he thought it might just be better to stay at a distance of more than an arm's length, at least for now. Gaby glowered at him. He knew it was not over yet, but at least it was out and he was still standing.

Solo stood by the window mouthing to himself _'Hail Mary Thank- Yous'_ that Peril hadn't blown up. He wasn't a religious man but as they say there are no atheists on a sinking ship. And the thought of what might have happened if Peril lost his temper seemed to be about as disastrous.

Switching back to his usual chipper voice, Waverly said, "So there is good news! You are all getting a well deserved holiday while everyone recovers. Although you can't leave the city for security reasons, you are free to enjoy London and all it offers. Perhaps a show, some fine dining, and our wonderful museums are always a favorite with visitors. And it's all on me." He gave a little bow of gratitude.

He scanned the room. No one appeared very excited though, the previous revelation hanging heavily at least for one member of his team.

Somberly he added, "I might suggest though just starting off with some rest perhaps." This brought a 'humph' from Illya while Gaby still glared at him. However, the American could already see the _diversion_ he was working on in yesterday's evening perhaps coming to a pleasant and rewarding conclusion, if he could find her and if she didn't slap him silly.

By the time they finished debriefing, it was late afternoon when they left Waverly's room.

She leaned back against Illya's chest with exhaustion. The three of them stood together as the hotel elevator traveled to their floor. Illya and Gaby walked to their room, Solo tagging along hoping to get a moment to talk to Illya alone. He was curious to know when and how Peril had come to the conclusion that it was Waverly that was responsible for his kidnapping and how he'd managed to control his temper.

He noted that the bandage on his arm had some blood stains beginning to seep through. "Peril looks like your leaking. Maybe you guys should stay in and take it easy tonight. London will still be here tomorrow."

Solo continued to stand at the door as Illya unlocked it. "Can I help you with something?"He questioned sounding annoyed.

"No, we'll talk later." He smiled warmly and patting the other man on the shoulder he said, "I'll make sure London is ready and waiting for you tomorrow. Get some rest."

"What about you, Cowboy? You going to rest tonight?" A sly smile betrayed that the Russian knew he had asked a rhetorical question.

"Me? No, I owe a young lady an apology and dinner." He gave a wink to the Russian and a nod to Gaby. Then his cheerful expression turned somber and he said earnestly, "You are the bravest woman I've ever met. And if this guy ever gives you a hard time you let me know."

It brought a predictable glower from the other man. Solo playfully added "You've got to learn to play nice, Peril."

Illya shut the door behind him. Americans, he thought, a very odd bunch with their humor. He took a deep breath and stood for a few seconds as the room swam around him. He hoped Gaby did not see him grabbing the back of a chair.

They shared a room again, this time as supposed lovers. Bauknecht certainly bought it as he grabbed Gaby as leverage against him. It was all part of the sham, an internationally known assassin would have to have a woman, Waverly proposed. It was part of the picture, the drama that was required to bring in the big players. He wondered if it wasn't part of Waverly's scheme to tie the two of them romantically, although he never objected.

He'd been with many women especially as he came up the ranks of the KGB. Often after a successful mission he and Oleg would debrief usually with a bottle of Russia's best vodka, and then his boss would motion with his head and a large grin that he had something "special" waiting to help him unwind. Always a desirable woman with strong features, big breasts, and lips and who know all the ways to please a man.

He always engaged because not to would be weakness. Physically he would be satisfied and many of them were fascinated by his size, his strength, his status as one of the best. They'd let it be known that they would like to see him again and there would be no need for Oleg's involvement. He thought a lustful release with a woman, any attractive woman, would suffice. Until he met this woman.

Unlike the others, she was not impressed by him. He knew she had hated him. Hated him because he was Russian, here only to impose Russian will on her city. And although he knew he intimidated her at least initially, she never showed it. He remembered when he said he liked his woman strong. She was tough, the toughest woman he'd ever met. She chastised him, teased him and challenged him even physically with her drunken dance on their first mission. He wouldn't have killed her. No, that was against the mission of finding her father, but he certainly could have had her if he chose to. And Solo's reaction to it? Wouldn't have mattered. He was the best and no one questioned him... except her.

He never thought he needed a woman other than to complete the physical act. And yet he found he liked her. He liked having her on his arm when they walked. And the time they weren't together after the Istanbul mission, he missed her. She was spirited, smart, tough, and beautiful. And he respected her, which was a different reaction for him.

He had a sister once and he loved her, but after what happened to his family he decided his only love would be for Mother Russia. But Russia couldn't snuggle with him, or make him smile, or grace his arm as they walked, or tend to his wounds, or surprise him with an unexpected peck on the cheek. He would always defend Russia but this was different. Of course a country also couldn't keep him awake at night as he struggled to control his desire.

By now they had kissed many times, but they both stopped before things went any further. He knew why he stopped. Fear of hurting her, dragging her into his life. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was either called back by the KGB, or more likely asked to spy on the British and Americans. Oleg was probably just waiting for the right time and then what would his choice be: fail Mother Russia by not completing his mission or fail Gaby by becoming the double agent she would never believe he could be.

He knew Waverly was keenly aware of the possibility and that's why he had been subjected to the truth serum. Maybe that's why Waverly sought to link them romantically. She would be the gate keeper, his conscience in force. What Cowboy thought, he didn't know. But Gaby, his sweet Gabriela, she was new to this world of treachery. They'd have to talk.

She wasn't safe. She had gotten hurt and someday it could be so much worse. He was shaken from his thoughts by her voice.

"Illya, are you alright? You're just standing there, looking like you're in another world."

She had plunked down on the couch, and sat looking at him with concern. "You look a little pale."

"I am pale," he replied."Russia is not known for sun and sandy beaches."

"Then come sit with me." She smiled at him and patted the seat beside her.

He knew she wouldn't like this topic, but it was time. "UNCLE is a bad idea for you. It is too dangerous. You will get hurt, and maybe someday real bad."

Her expression deepened, "that's what I have you for, to protect me."

"So far I haven't done very good job."

She frowned knowing the conversation he wanted to have was going to be difficult. "Napoleon was right. Your bandages need to be changed," she said looking at him smiling. She patted the sofa again. "And if you don't walk over here now I'm going to know you're not well and I'll call the doctor," she challenged him.

He grinned. He was taking orders from a woman, this woman, and he liked it.

"I am fine. No need to call doctor." She watched him as he wobbled a bit, but clearly was managing. He winced as he knocked his bad arm on the edge of the couch as he went to sit.

She spoke, "Let's not talk about this tonight. I have my reasons for what I do, and I accept the risk, just as I accept Napoleon and you." Her voice lingered on the last word and she could feel an emotion she'd been trying to control for months come to the surface. She snuggled into him and regained command of herself. After a few silent moments, she looked up into his blue eyes that fascinated her with the different shades they turned, from cold steel when he was angry to a calming deep blue/ green when he was at rest. She saw the concern and worry.

"I don't want you to get hurt. You are important to me." He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

She leaned on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head and let his lips linger there. They needed to talk.

But not tonight. She was right. They worked in a dangerous game. And if he couldn't talk her into quitting, maybe he just had to live with it. And maybe it was time to quit wasting time, and acknowledge the weakness he felt for her. She was frightened of abandonment and he was frightened of hurting her, so they danced. But maybe tonight they could dance together. But first there was the most immediate problem of figuring out where to _dance_.

Getting comfortable was going to be a challenge. He had a hard time finding beds big enough even when he was well so he chose the floor. He said the single bed was not satisfactory as it wasn't big enough for his injured arm, so he dragged the bedding and pillows onto the floor and pushed back the furniture to the wall to make a large space. She watched from her bed as he clumsily spread things out, and cursed occasionally as he didn't have the benefit of his usual strength. So stubborn she thought. She'd offered to push the two beds together so at least he'd have a soft mattress and she'd sleep on the floor, but he said floors didn't bother him.

She expected he might invite her to share the bed but when he didn't offer she didn't ask. Maybe he was just really tired and in pain. He'd never say if he was but he'd been through "the ringer", an expression Napoleon used and she'd adopted because it sounded so… American.

Now as he struggled to get the pillows positioned, she decided at that moment, she'd had enough of his "Russianess" _._ She pulled her blankets off the bed and marched over to his disorganized mess of tangled blankets, and started straightening them while adding hers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm sleeping with you tonight." She announced and then quietly choked at her wording. "I mean I'm going to help you arrange your covers and stay with you because I'm pretty sure I'm going to have nightmares." She held her head confidently and looked at him with the upmost innocence.

What she saw next she would never forget as he broke out in a sly smile. "Yes, good idea you sleep here. I will protect you from nightmares, but I think there may be no one to protect you from me." With that he pulled her close and the kiss that had been simmering for months finally came to a full boil.

EPILOGUE

A week had passed since the fight in the alley and Napoleon and Illya walked together along the Thames on their way to the British Military Intelligence Headquarters. It was overcast but warm and both men were dressed casually in trousers and short sleeve shirts. Illya had given up the arm sling days ago and just had a lightly bandaged upper arm. A few days of rest and his breathing had also much improved the American noted as they strode along at a quick pace.

Gaby had discovered the shopping of London and was taking full advantage of Waverly's offer returning daily with bundles from shoes to bags, dresses and even a wig. This was an optional meeting to review what new information had come out of the Swiss bank accounts and she had taken a pass on it saying she wasn't sure how much longer they would be on holiday and wanted to literally "spend" every minute of her last days gathering a new wardrobe.

"So Peril, how are you and Gaby getting along these days?" He asked the question breezily but seething to know if the couple had "done it" or not. From the day after the fight when Gaby opened their hotel room door, and he saw a mess of covers on the floor and none on the beds, the little school boy inside of him was dying to know what happened. After all you can't be known as a ladies' man without having significant interest in other people's love life.

"We get along fine," was the answer.

"Well I figured that since you're still sharing a room. I just wondered since you seem to have a nest on the floor and no one is sleeping in a bed if maybe something had happened." He walked along looking straight ahead to avoid the hostel stare that was directed his way.

"She has nightmares and feels better to know I'm close by." The answer came in a controlled and smug voice.

"Oh, I just thought since you're in love with each other, maybe you might have done something about it other than just look longingly in each other's eyes." Napoleon figured if the Russian was going to play bull headed, tough guy with him it was time to level the playing field a bit.

There was no answer for a minute, and the two walked in silence.

Finally the Russian spoke. "Yes, we have made love and it is very nice. You ok now, Cowboy?" He stopped and looked at him with an annoyed expression but not an angry one.

"Just wondering," came the blasé response. Again silence for several minutes as they continued walking.

"I'm glad. You know you're really good for each other." Napoleon continued looking straight ahead.

"You Americans have very big noses." Came the reply.

"Maybe, but you know Peril, a gentleman would never tell on a lady."

"I am not a _gentle- man_."

"True."

"But if I find you, who is like a gentleman with your suits and fancy talk ever tells, I will break something of you."

"Understood, my friend. Like I said I'm happy for you. I love women, you know that, but I'm envious because you have the right woman."

"Yes," came the predictable one word answer.

The American and the Russian continued walking in pleasant silence, the American with a suggestion of a smile, the Russian with a grim set to his eyes and mouth. As they passed by a partially blind and facially disfigured war veteran sitting on a park bench alone, the American dropped a twenty pound note into his upturned cap.

"Thank you kind Sir," said the man as he watched the UNCLE agents walk past. Like everyone else they hadn't noticed his very slight German accent.

The End

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 _Wowie, Zouwie! Finally finished. Thank you to those who took the time to drop me a note. I appreciate it and its not too late. Feedback always appreciated._

 _Thanks for reading!_


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